Mean Middle-aged Lady: This is the beginning of the bugger stairs. The suicide stairs are over there. [Cackles.]

Yes, friends, Day 7 had me slappin’ on some socks for the first time in a week, pretending my everyday shoes were hiking shoes (Well, any of my shoes could transform into hiking shoes in a pinch.) and tackling Townsville’s Castle Hill. Here’s what it looks like from afar:

Pretty imposing, huh? And this, more or less, is what it looks like from the top:

So there you have it. If you’d like to save yourself the steep 30 minute climb, sweaty brow, and niggling worries about your ever-declining level of physical fitness (“I mean, come on, Body, we used to RUN, gosh darn it! Don’t you remember those days? See that 8-year-old with a dog? They just flew past you! Step it up!”), consider yourself to have done it. All you’re missing is athletic people fully decked out in nylon shorts complimenting you on your comedy while you wheeze your way up the hill, red-faced and dripping with sweat. Oh, and the fear that if you don’t get into shape, you’ll be in a sip-and-puff operated wheelchair by age 52. Oh, and maybe the shameful experience of breaking into sentimental tears in front of “Got to Dance” back at the hotel while eating takeaway Indian food. Other than that, if you’ve seen these pictures, you’ve climbed Castle Hill. Congratulations!